


Death Changes a Woman

by DearDaaery



Category: Tanz der Vampire - Steinman/Kunze
Genre: Anger, Attempted Sexual Assault, But also this is meant to empower and uplift her and give her agency back, Chagal is a Creep, Character Death, Expanded Vampire Lore, GO MAGDA!, Gen, Herbert and Krolock Father-Son Shenanigans, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Magda is DONE, Minor Character Death, Referenced Murder and Blood Drinking, Referenced Sexual Misconduct, Revenge, She rids herself of toxicity and is ready for a rebirth, Totally understandable if this type of storyline triggers you, Violence, Working Title: GET WOKE TANZ DER VAMPIRE, Writing my own since no one else except france will re-write it, and I'm going to give it to her, and just so we are clear NO ACTUAL ASSAULT TAKES PLACE, crypts, get wrecked roman polanski, magda deserves better, self-defense killing, that's what this story is about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearDaaery/pseuds/DearDaaery
Summary: Magda wakes up in the dark to find that she is not the same person she was the night before. She is bold. She is free. And she is ready for revenge.---The "Die Gruft" sequence from Tanz Der Vampire, the way it SHOULD be told.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28





	Death Changes a Woman

**Author's Note:**

> (Edit: January 2021)
> 
> *airhorns*  
> GET WRECKED ROMAN POLANSKI!!!!!
> 
> I've had a hard time coming to terms with my relationship to this musical after I found out literal fugitive and terrible person Roman Polanski is the one responsible for writing and directing the original and various productions of it, as recently as 2015. I've reconsidered my stance on the entire thing, although I will say finding out this information put a lot of things about WHY I had the issues I did with its storyline into perspective. I've decided this work of musical theater is no longer for me and I've parted ways with it, but I still am proud of the work I did on this and my other fic, Something Red, to try to give the women of this musical what they deserve. It is absolutely NOT what the creator would want and that's how it should be.

The first thing Magda noticed upon waking was the dim light that cast itself over her face. Her dream had been pitch black, and she had been robbed of sight. All her other senses were heightened to the dreadful experience that was going on around her in the closed, confined space. 

The second thing she noticed was the fact that she was uninhibited. The arms that pulled her in from behind, the terrifying walls on all sides of her that pushed her further into him, the fear that paralyzed her and made her feel trapped inside her own body, all of it was gone. She remembered the tears that welled up at the corner of her eyes, inhaling the _stench_ of him, his very presence once again enveloping her as he wrapped himself around. God only knew what kind of body parts were poking and prodding into the skin of her back, concealed only by the thin linen of nightshirts. She thought she had gone to hell, that she would be bound to her tormentor for eternity, with him overpowering her so he could strip her of her dignity and subjugate every single part of her.

She was sure she had done nothing to warrant such a punishment, and now there was a way forward. Just her, and a view outside of the space in front of her, the arches of fine gray stone telling her to free herself into reality.

She realized by the fact that she was lying down that she was in a coffin. Someone else must have put her there, and _surely_ it was a mistake. She was alive and well and she had just fainted. Yes...the sight of him, her tormentor, dead on the table, the confusion she felt, the dread she felt, the _relief_ she felt, it must have overwhelmed her. Rebecca must have been too concerned with grief for her dead, philanderer husband and missing daughter that she mistakenly thought Magda had died too…

She could get out of this, clear things up, be back to the inn and back to a life without _him._ For _he_ was finally out of her life for good.

 _Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap._ Her thoughts were interrupted by the vibrations of the coffin around her.

“Enough slumber.”

Magda’s arms felt heavy as she lifted them to the sides of the coffin. As she moved, she felt as if the process was delayed, as if her mind was moving faster and waiting for her body to catch up, as if her spirit was dragging her limbs around on a string. A creeping fear formed within her: if she was not careful, her legs would drop back down to the floor and be even harder to lift up again.

Fortunately, she was able to prop herself up on the side of the walls as she tried to listen to the prattling from the voice that awoke her. "Why all the noise…" she rasped. "What's the fuss about?"

The owner of the voice stomped towards her rather unceremoniously. "The fuss? My luscious maid, have you not been listening? Did you hear? There is a _ball_ tonight, and we shall be attending. The Count will be pleased to see us in our new undead forms. Me, a strapping entrepreneur of the village and you, my glowing and buxom concubine…”

She knew that voice. _Oh no._

She could feel herself sinking back into the coffin slowly as he approached. It could not be. How could he be alive? If he were alive that would mean...the dream was real. That horrifying nightmare was her reality. He had been in the coffin with her. Smothering her. Whispering all of his revolting plans for their _new life_ together, now that she was his. 

Her body began to shake from the pure terror of the prospect, for there he was. Chagal himself, standing over her. He looked different, paler, with....pointed teeth?

Heavens above...the stories...they were real...vampires existed and Chagal was now one of them.

And as she felt points of her own teeth drive into her bottom lip...she concluded she was one as well. 

Memories came rushing back to her. He was on the table, cold as the snow outside, frozen solid like the icicles from that formed on the roof of the inn, and then all of a sudden he had jerked up. He had backed her into the chair, all of the defenses she had known - the crosses, the garlic - were useless, and he plunged his teeth right into her with a gleeful look on his face. He had marked her. He _owned_ her now, and he would do what he wanted with her, and she would have no say in the matter.

She did not know when her life had become so unfair. If she had been alone, she would have burst into tears and wailed at how her faith and her virtue had abandoned her like this.

But she was not alone, the face of her tormentor was staring at her lecherously.

“It is but noon, my little maiden. Quite a few hours until we attend the ball. But I think that means we have half a day to ourselves! Allow me to cozy up to you in the coffin once more, perhaps maybe even take another sip of that scrumptious blood of yours?”

“No!” She said sticking her hand straight up and out to keep him at bay. How odd, this time her limb shot up like a bolt of lightning.

Chagal only laughed at her response. “It is cute how you play hard to get, my little nymph. But I could never leave you, my sweet victim, it is an honor and a privilege to be by your side, to be the one who gets to suck on you...and you, my dear, are welcome to return the favor.”

He took her hand and pulled her body up so he could dive into the vein on her wrist, but before he was successful she withdrew her hand in a flash.

“I said no, Chagal. I didn’t give you permission the first time and there is no way I’m letting you now, not after the damage you caused.”

He pulled back, clearly puzzled at her boldness. “You have the nerve to refuse me after all I’ve done for you in our past life, and how I’m providing you with guidance and wisdom in this new one?”

He walked away in disbelief. “I put a roof over your head, and fed you, and allowed you employment in my establishment as a human. I am your _sire_ as a vampire. I made you what you are _twice_ , girl. That means I am your master. You think you have such spunk to go against me, eh?”

Magda knew that this was the time to run, while he was grandstanding to an audience of an empty crypt. Yet her legs remained still as she went to move them. They were stiff, and stone cold. When she touched one she could feel nothing, and when she lifted it, it would only plop back to the bottom of the coffin in return. She could not go anywhere. She could not flee him. She could _never_ flee him.

Perhaps if she tried to stand, the circulation would return and she would gain sense back. She could abscond into the night, away from this wretched life he had prepared for them. Working slowly and carefully to prop her leg up, she lifted herself out of the coffin, but as she perched on the side, it alerted him.

He was quick to turn around and approach her once more, as if he sensed her desire to run. “It won’t be all bad with me, girl. And why should I not suck your blood? I have had mine sucked thousands of times by the leeches of this world - the patrons at the inn, the wealthy who flaunt in my face all that I can’t have, the beautiful women who snubbed their noses at me in my youth, my nagging wife who denied me comfort and relations. It’s my turn to suck, and nourish myself, and have everything I desire become mine. Especially you.”

He placed his hand on her ankle, and slowly skimmed it up her calf. “I have waited _so_ long for you, my little Magda…”

Magda could no longer be sad, or scared, or tired. She was _angry_ now. Furious and fuming, at fate for allowing her life to come to this, at Chagal for touching her in this way, and at her own body for failing her at a time like this. He would take what he wanted and she would be powerless. And she was so, _so_ angry.

She could feel a fever rise in her, one of hatred and contempt boiling under the surface of her skin. It felt like it could not be contained, like she was going to explode out of her mortal coil and turn into something larger and altogether more terrifying.

And that was when Magda kicked Chagal in the face.

She did not know where the jolt of energy came from, but as his hand reached her knee, her leg extended with a firm force, foot planting him squarely on the nose, enough for him to yelp and stagger backwards. 

“Girl!" He wailed. "Why must you deny me so? I’m going to put an end to this folly you have of playing hard to get with me.”

Magda could feel the energy return to her, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as her muscles awoke. She went to flee, but instead, only toppled over the side of the coffin, falling onto the floor. Her vision was clouded, and she sensed her way around the floor as she crawled, hoping she could get away while he was stunned. Her speed was not developed in this new form and he was too quick, trapping her between his looming figure and the rough, cold stone of a sarcophagus behind her.

“You will learn, girl, that everyone takes from everyone else what they need or like,” He said. “You aren’t good for much else other than serving, and now it’s time for you to serve me what I need and want. Now, pucker up, you little wench.”

Magda knew the dark air of the crypt around her was black. She knew the fine marble floors and the stone that formed the graves where the vampires rested were black. She knew Chagal’s coat and hat and hair were black. She knew they were always black and would always stay black.

And yet...all she could see was red. All of it. It turned a fiery red before her very eyes. If this was her hell, and she would have to live in it for eternity, then she resolved to become a part of the very flames that were meant to consume her soul.

She worked with the flames as they overtook her, boiling and fervid and growing taller as she pushed Chagal away. She would drag him into the blaze and take his newfound gaiety from him as he had devastated her spirit, not just by turning her now, but all the little times he took away from her honor before. If anyone knew about getting leeched over the course of their lifetime, it was her. 

The flames of her temper did not engulf Chagal, but instead, sent him flying across the crypt and landing flat on his back. This did not deter him much. He cracked his broken joints back into place and walked towards her once again, a man possessed.

“You will learn soon enough what I am good for.” She told him. "Ridding the world of lechers like you, who prey upon undeserving women.”  
  
“Is that so?” He chided. “You think you are so much better than me just because you thought yourself virtuous as a mortal? Don’t make me laugh, girl. The lust will overtake you soon enough and you’ll give into me. You will have to be mine, you have no other way to live!”  
  
He stalked towards her, but she was prepared. Her hand outstretched, the heat burning red hot within it, clutching his entire throat in her hands and ready to crush it until he too became engulfed.

“I can live by the fire that burns within me, Chagal, I will never need you, and I will never want you. No one will. Now get comfortable as I prepare to crush your windpipe.”  
  
“I don’t need that to breathe!” He rasped. Even with her hand around his throat, he did not believe her.  
  
The fury in her at this man’s absolute insolence caused her to snarl at him. “No, but it will still cause you great pain.” She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side, wonderous at her own strength. “These nails are sharp, perhaps I can see if they’ll dig right through to the veins in your neck and cause you to bleed out, hmm?”

He let out a wheezing laugh, only entertained by her threats. "You cannot hurt me! We have skin of stone now! And even if you did, it would only heal!"

He slipped out of the hold she had on him, faster than anything she had ever seen, and he was standing behind her now, taunting a whisper in her ear. "If it's a game you want, I'm willing to play."

But Magda realized she could be just as quick, slashing more red across him with her fingernails. She craved it, seeing the fresh red gash into his skin as she weakened him and drove him to the ground.

It was she who had the upper hand now, with both hands around his neck as she regained her breath. She was once again poised to feel his throat crush beneath her hands, as if she were breaking bread for the inn patrons.

“Wait!” He cried. His voice was pitiful. Weak. Pathetic. All this newfound power, yet her employer was still the coward he had always been in his human life. “I’ll leave. I’ll go far away...won’t...bother...anymore...you aren’t this kind of girl…You don’t...need to...do this…”

“Oh, I believe I do, sir. I’m following your orders. I’m taking what I want and need. I want revenge, and I need you to shut up for once.”

She squeezed with all her might and thought she would cause his entire un-life to drop right out of him. It felt good, he felt malleable, like dough in her hands. Ultimately satisfying. She watched him go limp like a ragdoll as she tossed him to the ground, like an unwanted, broken toy to be discarded.

“Well,” she stood up, tall and proud, strutting away from his limp form. “Now you can leave, like you blabbed that you would. Crawl out of here and let the whole world see what a feeble creature Mr. Chagal really is. Now I hope you can leave me b-”

He tackled her to the ground by him once again, pinned under his horrid body, his eyes lecherously peering at her. “My dear, you underestimate what a lustful man such as me is capable of. When he puts his mind to something, he cannot let it go until he completes his conquest. And you, my little one, with your flame and passion, only stoked the fire burning in me. Oh Magda, let me have you please! You don’t know what it’s like to be incinerated with such a coveting! Please!”

Once again, he trapped her, this time from the front. She turned her head to block out the stench and the sight of him, but it only made her throat more accessible.

As he pulled his head back to bare his fangs, she saw it. A wooden stake. What was it doing here? Why would vampires keep something so dangerous to them lying around?

She did not know, and she did not care. God may have abandoned her in her time of need, but fate decided to cease its cruelty.

She arched her back to be able to extend her arm more, playing into him and his lust as a matter of deceit.

“Oh Magda,” He breathed. “My obedient servant, my trusted maid, my good girl-”

She snatched the stake and shoved it between them in a flash. “All my life I’ve been good, Chagal. Because my life was not my own. My time has come, now, and I see things so much more clearly. The red flame has helped purify my senses. And it burned a path for me to see that I want your sickening perversion out of my life - or, whatever this is - for good.”

She drove the stake closer to his chest so that it was now touching his skin directly.  
  
A chilling laugh of mockery left Chagal’s lungs. He was _amused_ by all this. “You wouldn’t," He challenged.

Her mouth tightened in a straight line. “You’re willing to bet your existence on that, I see. Well, too bad. You’ve lost that gamble.”

Her entire vision turned a bright scarlet as she plunged the stake through his heart. 

She didn’t know if that was from the rage, or the blood that began to pour, or the hunger that overtook her. In retrospect, she supposed it was all three. But the next thing she knew Chagal’s body had been cast aside, and she was scooping up the blood that had poured on her nightdress and licking at it like a wild dog. That was when she was woken from her reverie of scarlet by a voice.

“ _What_ is going on here? It is noon and some of us are trying to get their beauty rest, there is a ball tonight!” A man, impossibly tall with silvery blonde hair and sharp, angular features was approaching from behind one of the sarcophagi. She could sense that he was like her, with no discernible human blood scent or pulsing sound through his veins. He was outfitted in fine silk pajamas of lilac, and a matching sleep mask was pushed high up on his forehead.

He stopped in his tracks looking at the sight before him. Magda’s brain felt rational again for the first time since she was human. Was he the Count? Magda had never seen the Count before. She knew he was tall, and he was rumored to be vampiric. Both accounts were right.

She sheepishly drew herself to stand, now that she had the energy, and pulled herself into an awkward curtsey. “I apologize for making such a...mess of your crypt, Your Lordship? My Lord? Your Grace? I’m not used to-”  
  
“ _His Excellency_ is the term you’re looking for, my beauty. And I am not his excellency, but the heir to His Excellency, his son. It’s all very complicated. He’s the Count, I’m the Viscount, and you can just call me Herbert.” The man spoke elegantly, but faster than anyone she had ever encountered before.

“It’s nice to meet you...Herbert.” Magda sounded out the name. Quite aristocratic, much more than she had ever been used to.  
  
“However did you get in here? And however did you become like us? You’re a newborn, yes? Papa didn’t give anyone permission to transform the villagers. I was just beginning to like you, too, it would be a shame if we had to execute you.”

“If you _what?_ ” Magda cried.  
  
“That won’t be necessary, my boy.”

Magda shrieked at the voice behind her, deep and rich and commanding. She whirled around to be met by a man, a man even taller than Herbert, with hair and clothing so dark it looked like he blended into the scenery around him. He could have slinked out of the stonework had it not been for his pale skin that was a stark contrast to the darkness.

“Ah,” Herbert cooed. “That would be His Excellency, _my father_ , now.”

So this was the Count. Magda knew she had to do something, but he was so intimidating, she could not get her body to move.  
  
“Apologies...Excellency.”

“My lady, there is no need to fear me. No further harm shall come to you.” He bowed and took her hand, kissing it politely. He was all formality and stone. “I am the Count von Krolock, and I welcome you to our humble abode. You are a guest here, and will remain so for as long as you choose.”

Magda drew in a breath. She did not quite know how to respond. This was _the Count_ that everyone in the village feared above all else. He was not just some bogeyman from a fable that children were told so they would come home before sunset. He was flesh and bone - or as flesh and bone as a man undead could be - and he was standing before her. A man she could sense was capable of causing great horror and distress. A man who had most likely used his wicked charms to seduce Sarah and may have already sent her to her doom. A man who, ostensibly, could decide to execute his subjects on a whim.

If he was so fiendish, why was he offering her mercy now?

She did not trust him, not completely. She did not know if she ever would, but she supposed she had an eternity to sort it out. For where else could she go? Despite being finally free of Chagal, she could not return to her old life. The life she had dreamed of where she could just do her job and be left alone, knowing she was no longer constantly being observed as the object of someone's heinous degeneracy. To be able to throw caution to the wind and finally stop worrying about being the prey to a predator.

Now, however, she could never achieve her ideal. She needed to stay in the castle, with complete strangers who were at least of her own kind, but predators themselves. The vigilance she had crafted so well in life would stay with her as she settled into her new life. It was not how she wanted to live a life free of Chagal, but at least she was used to it.  
  
The only way she would see if these men were worthy of her trust was by conversing with them more, and seeing what her instinct could gleam about them. “I appreciate the hospitality, Your Excellency, but I don’t understand. Why are you taking me in? You don’t even know me.”

“You are Magda, the only maid at Chagal’s Inn. You lived a life of discomfort and displeasure under his mistreatment, and so the anger in you built up. But you did not realize it because you were always such an upstanding, moral Christian girl. Now you feel abandoned, do you not? So you turned to the only motivating emotion that you could find. Your wrath.”  
  
“Oooooh a woman scorned and motivated by vengeance!” Herbert interjected. “Those are _so_ much fun, I just knew we were going to be great frie-”

“Herbert. We have talked about you interrupting.”

“Sorry, Papa, you know I just get carried away. I will practice my patience.”

They were right about her, in the moment. The wrath had felt good. The wrath had felt right. But she was not going to play the starry-eyed innocent. She would keep her walls up, stoic and strong. The Count and his son were no longer something to fear, for she now possessed everything that made them so frightening.

"Perceptive." She said, crossing her arms. "Are you going to read my fortune next? Do vampires get to predict the future?”

Herbert laughed at this. "Father, do let me keep her, please."

"The lady has shown herself to be quite capable of deciding things for herself." The Count quipped back. "If she becomes part of your retinue, that will be her choice. And despite the sarcasm behind your inquiry, some of us _may_ have prophetic visions. But you will have to wait a century to see whether or not they develop."

"What a shame, I was hoping that there would be some immediate perks to getting turned into a creature of bloodthirst and dragged here against my will in the middle of the night while indecently dressed."

"You'll see the rewards of this life soon enough…as well as the drawbacks …" The Count stared into the empty space of the crypt, his body remaining still as a statue but his mind floating off somewhere indiscernible.

"Ugh, Papa! You're doing it again!" Herbert cried in frustration. "Stop trailing off like a catatonic in front of people I want to befriend, it is quite embarrassing!"

The Count snapped back into consciousness to send a glare to his son. "My apologies. How impolite of me. Almost as impolite as daring to speak against your father."

Magda could not believe the personality she sensed in them in these moments. They were no different than a father and son arguing over chores in the village. Perhaps she would not lose so much of herself to the darkness after all.

Count von Krolock peered over her shoulder. “You did an excellent job of disposing of him so that I would not have to. For that I am very grateful, Miss Magda.”

“You’re welcome, Your Excellency.” She tried a little curtsey again, steadier this time, but no more elegant given the ghastly sight she was, covered in blood and a tired mess.

“Where did you get the stake?” He asked, stepping closer to the messy tableau she had created. He seemed quite fascinated by her handiwork, and she could tell this situation was mostly amusing to him. “Did you carry it with you at all times, in case of attacks in the village?”  
  
“No. I found it lying over there, on the floor. I thought it odd you would keep such weapons that could be used against you so easily accessible, but considering the concept of _my execution at your order_ has been brought up tonight, I am sure there is a lot I don't yet understand about the ways of this society."

“We do not,” He confirmed. “Our official stakes are kept securely away from everyone. Only Herbert and I can access them. And they are much more ornate than this one could ever hope to be. Many are of silver."

A gasp came from Herbert at that. “Oh! That adorable Alfred must have dropped his when he left the crypt! Oh, that was the noise that woke me up at first! Imagine him, coming all the way down here and sparing us with the kindness of his heart - not that he would have succeeded anyway.”

“You were not the one with a stake so close to your chest, dear son.” Krolock rolled his eyes.  
  
“Why didn’t you reach up and stop him?”  
  
“The boy?” Krolock let out a deep, hearty laugh, and Herbert began to join in. “He’s harmless! Why bother revealing how dangerous we really are to those imbeciles? Let them think they can win the battle. It will be more fun to watch them lose.”

“Fun to watch _Abronsius_ lose.” Herbert chimed in. “Alfred will be won over to our side by this evening, I can feel it. I will save him a dance tonight, first and last if he so chooses! You’re welcome to join us, Magda.”

How curious this all was. Herbert had...feelings, if they could be called that, towards Alfred? And planned to seduce him? His plan did not sound very devious - he spoke of the object of his affection as if he were a schoolboy with a crush. Perhaps Herbert meant to win Alfred's hand and heart fairly, but if Alfred refused, would Herbert resort to coercion? 

Magda was suddenly reminded of the capacity for villainy these men held. Would Alfred even fall for Herbert's charms? She barely knew Alfred, but she knew that she had only ever seen him be attracted to women. She saw the way he ogled her cleavage on his first night at the inn, like so many men before, but deemed him innocuous when he set his sights on Sarah. He too, a schoolboy with a crush. A schoolboy with a crush so large he would trust a man as warped as Chagal to get what he wanted and not even _think_ about protecting or saving her, an _innocent_ , in the process.

Herbert and Alfred had more in common than it first seemed. When she thought about it, she could see the two working well together after all.

She supposed she should spend her allotted line of questioning on the bigger issues at hand. "I thank you both for your unexpected kindness. But may I ask, were you going to kill Chagal anyway?”  
  
“Of course.” Krolock responded, as if it were a matter as trivial as selecting a cravat to wear. “He was an undesirable, his transformation a mistake. He was never meant to be one of us. I carefully select the members of my brood. One of them must have escaped and found him wandering around the grounds. Someone will certainly need to be punished for their transgression, as this someone became filled with hubris and greed and fed on him. Yet they were not careful to drain every last drop of his blood - speaking of which,” he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. “For you, if you would like to clean yourself up.”

She took the lacy black scrap from him and began wiping the traces of blood away. “So if he is undesirable, why am I not?”

Krolock chuckled. “Miss Magda, you said it yourself. You had no control over your situation and were thrown into this by a cruel twist of fate, nothing more. You are an unfortunate casualty in this incident. I am giving you the chance to join us and live your new life however you so choose - so long as you stay within my rules of course."

Magda squared up to him, emboldened and unafraid. "I've always been good at following rules, so long as they're fair. What possibly could you have in store?"

"First, do not leave the castle grounds. Normally this would mean the crypt, possibly even your tomb, but Herbert has taken a liking to you so I assume if you take up his offer, you shall be seeing him upstairs. Second, do not drink any blood not sanctioned by me. I shall provide you canisters or take you on a hunt but you must be supervised. And third, if you are drinking from a human, do not _ever_ stop drinking before you drain them. That is how you came to be, Miss Magda. The penalty for creating a newborn without my permission is something far worse than death. But I am sure you would not want to subject your former kinsmen to the unfair fate you had, now would you?"

"Certainly not. I thought your terms would be much stricter to be perfectly honest. You have a deal."

She stuck out her hand to shake on it. The Count smirked. "The entrepreneurial spirit suits you, madam. 'Tis a shame you did not get to exercise it more often while you lived."

"Maybe I will have time to use it to my advantage now that I have a worthy leader." 

He took her hand and shook it, calling for his servant once they were done.

A creature like nothing Magda had ever seen before came bounding out of the shadows. He had a hunched back, and his face was swollen and disfigured. Despite this, she sensed a great sense of loyalty and amiability in him.

“Koukol, prepare a spare tomb for Miss Magda. Please bring her a bottle of vintage shepherd’s blood to rejuvenate her before her bedtime with new sleeping attire, and a selection of spare gowns for the ball tonight. Finally, put the corpse of this miserable wretch back into the cheap pine box from whence he came and send him back to his sniveling wife for burial.”

The Count took one last look at her homicidal masterpiece before Koukol came over and began to clean up the scene.

“It won’t be the couture gown commissioned for Sarah," Herbert gushed. "But you’ll look lovely tonight, I'll make sure of it!” 

"So Sarah _is_ alive." Magda's face lit up in surprise, at the thought of seeing her young friend again. "I thought you would have seduced her and drained her of blood by now."

The Count quirked an eyebrow at her. "Miss Magda, you will come to understand that some people are too precious to kill. Some can be of great value and you want to keep them around."

What did that mean? Was he...no. She was so young. There was no way he could _care_ about her. But she was a great beauty. It was why she was always locked up like a princess in a tower.

Magda did not know what to think of this arrangement, but she did know Sarah was always dreaming about absconding with a dark suitor. Perhaps the feeling was mutual, and this was a more consenting arrangement than it appeared.

"Father _says_ she'll be useful and precious, but I don't believe it. I think you will be just as, if not more so!”

“You will _not_ speak of her in such a way!” The Count boomed, causing Magda to jump. Herbert, however, remained resolute. “You may be my son, but that does not mean you can go against my judgment. I know things and I have seen things that you could not possibly dream of, _child_ . She has something that none of our brood, not even you, can comprehend. But it will prove to be essential to our future and my leadership. And no, before you even try to retort with that silver tongue of yours I am _not_ just referring to her pretty face.”

Herbert only scoffed in response. “I’ll believe it when that entire wretched village grows fangs-”

“Be careful what you wish for.” The Count interrupted. “That could be sooner than you imagine.” 

Magda was not sure what this plan of his was. But she was not sure that she liked it. She would stick with these men for the time being, see how things went. If she could be left alone, she would stay, but she would never stop formulating escape plans if they would force into doing their bidding in what sounded like terrorizing the village. 

Despite her troubles, she remained outwardly composed. She could not let it slip that she still cared about her former home.

The Count continued speaking through gritted teeth. “We should let the lady get her rest and stop conspiring mutiny against me, Herbert.”

"Tsk-tsk, always feeling so persecuted, aren't you father?" Herbert took Magda and kissed her on both cheeks. “I bid you good day! Rest up for tonight’s festivities! And don't pick a gown without me. I'll be right here when you wake up!” He sauntered back to his sarcophagus, and settled himself into the plush lining.

The Count turned to her and bowed. "I will bid you good day as well. I apologize most humbly and sincerely for the matter in which it happened, but regardless of how you arrived here..." The Count peered down at her, a wicked grin crossing his face. "You will fit in just fine among the children of the night."

She gave him a small nod before locating her new tomb. Koukol was standing ready at the side of it, the clothing selections neatly laid out on marble floor. He nodded politely and left her to change in the darkness alone.

The nightgown - or possibly _daygown_ as she would not be wearing it at night - was finer than even the most formal dress she had owned in life. It had pleating and lace she had only seen on the finest gowns in window shops of the city where she grew up - the gowns that were meant for high society ladies. She slipped it on, folding her gory rags neatly for Koukol to retrieve. Some habits she would never break.

She felt contemplative as she settled into the plush lining of her new casket, glass of blood in hand. Death had truly changed her. She was bound to the very nature of vampirism, but she had never felt more freedom in her entire existence. Ironic that her captor had used this condition as a tool to further close her in. It had only led to his downfall, and her complete liberation. She could finally be herself, and finally live for herself in undeath.

A smile crossed her face as she drifted to sleep. She did not care about the threat the Count and his son could pose. She did not care about the fates of Alfred and Sarah come midnight. She did not care about anyone or anything else in the world that night. She only cared that, for the first time in years, she finally could sleep in peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Concerns? An offended Chagal stan who feels entitled to compensation for reading this feminist drivel in which your fave dies? Follow me @DearDaaery on twitter or tumblr and inform me of your lawsuit.


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